


Good Reasons to Freeze to Death

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, SRS 2012, The End!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2014!verse. Sam takes himself to Detroit, looking for the only being in all of Creation that he thinks will be happy to see him: Lucifer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Reasons to Freeze to Death

**Author's Note:**

> team Sam/Lucifer's entry for main round 2 of SRS 2012; the theme was established canon AUs.
> 
> beta and summary by [suchanadorer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer), who also had the excellent idea for the last scene.

It starts off as a trickle, dots of rain sprinkling across Sam's bare arms, so light it's like an eskimo kiss. There's a quiet stillness to the air, even here in this city; it's unearthly, the kind of weather that he's come to realize heralds Lucifer’s passing.

The rain picks up, and the sky grows ugly, deep purple and gray bruising clouds moving in. It's a constant patter on his skin now, and he thinks about how odd he must look, hunched over on a street corner, no umbrella, no jacket. No one is out, people seeming to have realized, unconsciously or not, that this weather isn't normal. 

His hair flattens, his bangs stick to his face. Rivulets of water run down his neck, streaming through his hair, and he closes his eyes against it but doesn't push the hair out of his face. There's water in his shoes, and his t-shirt is soaked nearly through.

"Forget your umbrella?"

Meg holds her hand out, offering Sam an umbrella. She watches him from under the hood of her own raincoat.

The last umbrella Sam owned is still in the trunk of the Impala. Dean had called him a pussy, but Sam had pointed out that FBI agents didn’t go out without one, and that had been the end of that discussion.

"Thanks," Sam says, taking it and opening it. The rain thunders against it, making a hollow drumming sound.

"He's worried about you," she says conversationally. "It's been a while since he's seen you."

"He knows I'm here," Sam says, shrugging. "He can come find me if he wants to." 

Meg smiles. "I volunteered.” She shifts her weight, unaffected by the rain. “Came alone this time.”

"Aren't you a right little devil's advocate," Sam says, wrapping his free arm around his body.

She laughs. "Funny. Never heard that one before."

"I mean it, though," Sam says. "You must know you're just tools to him, lower on the food chain than humans, even." 

After Sam had given up on Keith and crossword puzzles, he’d done some digging of his own. Demons were surprisingly willing to talk to Lucifer’s true vessel about their father’s plan for the end of it all. He’d found out all sorts of things.

She shrugs. “Not important.”

"Why not?" Sam asks.

"He's our God," she answers simply. "He made us. And he's never let us down yet, which is more than I can say for your God."

"I don't have a God," Sam says, and Meg nods.

They share a companionable silence for a while. The streets are empty but for the occasional car, and the only sound is the rain that pours relentlessly down, soaking him through despite the umbrella. 

"He wants to see you," Meg offers.

Sam looks away, stares out at the flooding streets. This is what he came for, but now that it’s happening he wonders if she’ll go away if he doesn't respond. 

"Yeah, okay." Sam’s voice is faint when he finally answers. “Take me to him.”

Meg exhales, looking pleased and relieved. "He'll be so glad, Sam. It isn’t far," she adds. “We can walk.”

"Sure," Sam says, and follows her.

Sam follows her without bothering to step over puddles. He’s on autopilot, half-dead inside from loneliness and fear. There's a thumping in his heart, and his stomach is fluttering. It's been a very long time since he's seen Lucifer, and there's a feeling almost like anticipation building inside him. He can’t deny how seductive the feeling of being welcome somewhere is.

"It's here," Meg says, nodding at an abandoned-looking warehouse, and gesturing for Sam to go first.

He pushes the doors open with trepidation. He isn’t sure what kind of welcome to expect; his experience with angels has shown him that VIP status doesn’t guarantee VIP treatment, but he can’t shake the thought that Lucifer will want to take care of him.

Lucifer is standing over a table, back to Sam, studying what look like maps. When Sam enters, he goes still, cutting himself off in the middle of a sentence, turning around slowly.

"Sam," he says, and there's naked relief on his face.

Lucifer’s not alone, and Sam feels awkward and self-conscious where he’s dripping on the floor. He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. Lucifer watches him. 

“I’m here,” Sam says through clenched teeth. His bravado is somewhat lessened by the shivering.

Lucifer starts, seeming to remember where they are. "Of course," he says smoothly. The others are already collecting the maps. "Leave us," he commands.

He moves towards Sam as soon as they're gone, and Sam has to fight to stand his ground. Lucifer raises a hand, cupping the back of Sam's head and frowning. "You're soaking wet," he says softly. "You'll catch your death."

"I’m sure that would be really inconvenient for you," Sam mutters.

"Sam," Lucifer says chidingly. "I'm only concerned for your well-being.” 

"So you can wear me," Sam counters. He wants desperately to believe there’s more to Lucifer’s care, but he knows it’s the truth.

"There's no need to be so antagonistic," Lucifer says. "I don't like seeing you unhappy. It's as simple as that."

"It's never as simple as that," Sam says.

"Sometimes, it is," Lucifer says, quietly. And then, a note of faint hope in his voice, "I don't suppose you're ready to say 'yes'."

Sam frowns, jerks his head to shake Lucifer's hand off. "Not ever." He shakes his head again, and he can hardly remember the reason he came here. He’s replayed their first conversation so many times in his head. _I want you to be happy. My heart breaks for you._ Sam can’t believe how desperate and stupid he’s been, to come all this way hoping that Lucifer had an interest in him that went beyond possession.

"Not yet," Lucifer says, nodding. He pauses, corners of his mouth pulling down. “What’s wrong?”

Sam lowers his eyes. He feels ridiculous for having thought it. There’s no way he’ll say it out loud.

“Please. Tell me.”

Lucifer ducks his head to meet Sam’s eyes and the affection that Sam sees there only hurts more, because it can’t be real. Not like Sam wants it to be real.

“I thought,” Sam starts, but a shiver makes him bite his tongue. Lucifer shrugs off his shirt and drapes it over Sam’s shoulders. It’s too small, but it traps some body heat and after a moment Sam tries again. “You kissed me once. I mean, you looked like Jess, but –”

Lucifer takes Sam’s face in his hands and closes the distance between them. This kiss holds all of Lucifer's pent-up fury, his worry at not hearing from Sam. Honest, passionate concern fueled by weeks spent pacing, careful planning interrupted by worried distraction. All this finds its way into Lucifer’s kiss, and as much as Sam doesn't mean to open up to it, he can't quite help it when Lucifer pulls him in tight. He doesn’t care if it’s inside his own mind, if Lucifer is playing with him just to get him to say yes, or if this is real. It’s what he needs now.

"I missed you," Lucifer breathes against his mouth. "I don't like being apart." 

It isn't fair, he thinks, for the Devil to look so earnestly concerned.

"Will you stay?" Lucifer asks. "There're bedrooms in the back. If none are empty then someone will move. I like knowing you're safe," he adds, in a quiet voice.

"Is this like, your base camp or something?" Sam asks. It's oddly military, in a very familiar and human sort of way.

Lucifer smiles. "Or something. Please stay, Sam. Just—let me look after you. For a little bit."

"I don't need looking after," he says quickly. He’d needed somewhere to feel wanted, but his hunter instincts keep flaring up, telling him this is a bad idea and trying to hide the rush of want that sweeps through him. It's been so long since anyone did anything for him. 

“I want to,” Lucifer replies.

He sighs. The hand is still in his hair, smoothing out the locks that are still tangled and wet. "Fine," he says, and has to fight not to return the bright smile that lights up Lucifer's face.

Lucifer finds him a shirt and some sweatpants. "You didn't steal these off someone's clothesline, did you?" he asks, and the look on Lucifer's face is so affronted that he can't contain his smile. If he's being honest, he's relieved that he's not going to have to find another doorway to sleep in, even if it means relying on the Devil's hospitality.

He's surprised at how easily he falls asleep, here, in the lion's den. It's a deeper, more restful sleep than he's gotten in months. He only wakes once, when the door creaks and Lucifer enters. He kisses Sam's forehead and whispers, "I'm glad I have you again."

He’s still on the outer edges of sleep. It could well be a dream. Either way it leaves him feeling warm and safe, watched over.

It’s hours later when he wakes, freezing. He'd been alright when he'd gone to sleep, but some time in the night he'd kicked the blanket off, and this place isn't insulated enough to cope with Lucifer’s chill.

There's a pastry and a cup of coffee on a card table near the door. They're both still warm, and the pastry is lined with raspberry filling. It's a thoughtful, human sort of gesture, and he finds himself smiling at it without thinking. His clothes from the night before are folded and dry, and he pulls them on before venturing out.

There are demons around every corner, and their conversation turns to a hushed sort of buzz when he approaches. He wonders if they're talking about him.

He finds Lucifer in the same place he'd been the night before, peering at what looks like the same set of maps. He looks up when Sam approaches, and moves to push them out of sight.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, a touching note of concern in his voice. 

Sam nods. "What are you working on?" he asks. Curiosity has always been his weakness. He’s been experiencing the Apocalypse first-hand, but this is an opportunity to look at it from above.

Lucifer looks cagey. "It wouldn't interest you."

Sam narrows his eyes at him. "Don’t you trust me?"

"I want to," Lucifer says. "But I don't know why you’re here."

"Who would I tell?" Sam says. “Dean doesn't return my calls, and I haven't talked to Castiel in months."

 

"Sam, you don't _want_ to know," Lucifer says patiently.

"According to you," Sam argues. "I want to know what you're doing. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to, right?"

Lucifer still looks reluctant.

"Show me," Sam demands, and Lucifer does.

The maps remind Sam of diagrams from his history textbooks. They focus mainly on the Midwest, and they're covered with lines, arrows, even weather patterns. At first it makes no sense, but then Sam puts it together.

Lucifer is losing.

At first he doesn’t know what to say. _I notice your plan for world domination has gone kind of sideways, wanna talk about it_ doesn't seem adequate.

"You're not winning." He says it bluntly, unsure of how else to put it.

Lucifer exhales. “Without you as my vessel, we can barely hold the ground we have."

The silence that descends is thick and uncomfortable. Sam isn't sure what else to say, isn't sure what else there is to say. He knows what Lucifer wants from him, what Lucifer needs to turn the tide. Lucifer doesn't ask him again.

"I don't want you to lose," Sam finally whispers. "But I can't give that to you. Not yet."

Sam stops analyzing Lucifer’s tactics after that. He listens when Lucifer addresses his army, but he tries not to think about it. They watch him while Lucifer speaks, and Sam can read the question on their faces. _What are you doing here if you’re not going to help us win?_ Sam doesn’t have an answer, not even for himself. He’d come hoping for acceptance, but he hadn’t thought about what he’d do if he got it.

The rain hasn't relented the entire time he's been in the city, but he can't keep himself inside. He needs to be able to stretch his legs, and so he slips away, goes for long walks through the streets of Detroit. He always returns drenched and freezing. 

Lucifer looks him over and clucks his tongue, fond and concerned, before finding him dry clothes and bundling him in blankets. He always stays at least until Sam's stopped shivering and his teeth have stopped chattering, and it's nice, in a way. Lucifer will hold him, through so many layers of blankets that Sam can't feel how cold he is, until he's warm enough to kiss. 

Sam promises not to do it again, not to worry him like that. Even if Lucifer can bring him back, dying of pneumonia seems unnecessary. But the very next day, when Lucifer is busy, he slips out the back door. He has to show himself that he can leave. And he thinks he likes the way the rain feels on his skin, at least until he returns, wet and shivering.

"I know you miss your brother," Lucifer whispers when he comes back. "I know you feel alone. I miss my brother, too. But you're not alone, Sam, you never will be. You'll always have me, and I'll never leave you."

"I know," Sam whispers back. "Thank you."

He can’t explain to Lucifer that this is about so much more than Dean. With a word, Sam could change everything. His yes would be the shot heard round the world, and watching Lucifer lose is making his trigger finger shaky. He walks in the rain because he wants to feel his own skin, because he can feel himself slipping closer to the day when he gives it away.

For three days he doesn't go anywhere, doesn't slip out, just stays by Lucifer's side. Lucifer glances at him, when it's clear he doesn't think Sam is looking, and there’s possessiveness in his eyes, and a dark sort of hunger that Sam can feel growing in those glances.

It isn't either of those that makes him leave. It's the lingering look of hope that's the final straw, that leaves him feeling trapped and clawing for air, that pushes him out in the early hours of the fourth day. No one follows him.

Sam sleeps poorly, used to a bed instead of a church basement. The gnawing feeling of loss and loneliness is back, a solid ache in his chest that reminds him too much of when he’d walked away from his brother years ago. 

When he comes back he finds Lucifer sitting on his bed, as if he was expected. Lucifer stands when he sees Sam in the doorway. He stares at him with such broken, open relief it makes Sam want to curl in on himself and hide.

"You look awful," he says, because it's true. Lucifer looks like he's burning through his skin, like his true form is fighting so hard to break free that it's a constant struggle just to stay contained. 

The war isn’t all that Lucifer is losing. Sam is sure he’s made the right decision now.

Lucifer just smiles weakly. He looks like he's an inch from rushing at Sam, pulling him in close and never letting him go.

"Does it hurt?"

He shrugs. "Hell hurt. I can endure this."

"Until I say yes."

Lucifer doesn't say anything to that, and suddenly Sam can't bear it. He moves towards Lucifer, and when he's two steps away Lucifer meets him, kissing him fiercely. He sits back down on the bed and Sam follows, straddling his thighs.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Sam says between kisses. “I can’t watch you lose, watch you die. Not when I can help.” He takes a deep breath. "I want to say yes."

"Sam." Lucifer's voice is reverent. " _Sam_." He pauses, looks conflicted. "I want, Sam, you don't know how badly I _want_ —but there are complications. Conditions."

"Conditions," Sam says flatly, and there's a chill running down his spine.

There's a terrible, ancient, sadness on Lucifer's face. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs—

"Lucifer," Sam says, voice cracking, feeling like something's trying to claw its way out of his throat, "what are the conditions."

"I'm _damaged_ ," Lucifer says, voice full of bitterness. "Even with you. I'm still damaged and volatile, and I'd burn you." 

"I don’t understand," Sam says, dropping his head against Lucifer's neck.

"Demon blood," Lucifer says, looking away. He curls a hand in Sam's hair, fingers stroking and soothing. "I drink it now, and if you say yes then you’ll have to, too."

"Oh," Sam whispers. There's a rushing in his ears and heat behind his eyes. He hadn’t expected this. "How much?"

"A lot," Lucifer murmurs.

Sam nods. "Will you—" he starts, and breaks off, swallowing thickly. "Will you help me?" he asks, and Lucifer breathes, "Of course, Sam."

The next morning Lucifer produces two plastic jugs full of blood. Sam doesn’t ask where it comes from. He’s just grateful that he didn’t have to go find it. He spreads a checkered blanket down on the warehouse floor and offers Sam a wine glass, with an ironic little smile. It's a twisted sort of picnic. 

The smell is horrible and nostalgic, a thick, metallic tang that makes him sick. There’s longing there too, for a time when his mission was clear, and his intentions were good. He’d been powerful and strong, and loved. 

"Dean never forgave me," Sam says, trying to sound casual as he pours the glass full of blood. He's relieved to find that his hand only shakes a little as he pours. "I thought maybe, if I gave him time. But I guess that isn't going to happen."

Lucifer's brow wrinkles. "You don't need his forgiveness."

"Of course you'd say that." Sam stares into the wine glass. The blood is dark and rich, and he wonders who the donor was, offering up their life for this final insult.

He dips two fingers into the glass, lifting them to Sam's lips. "You don't require his absolution.”

Sam open his mouth to let his fingers slip inside, curls his tongue around them, licking until they're clean.

He kneels in front of Sam, takes the wine glass from his unresisting grip and raises it carefully to Sam's lips. "Open," he says, and Sam obeys, letting him pour the dark liquid down his throat. It burns, but he gasps and swallows, encouraged by Lucifer’s soft, pleased smile.

A few drops escape, trickle down his chin, and Lucifer leans in and licks them away tenderly.

Lucifer refills the glass, and this time it's both easier and harder. The taste is heady and familiar, but tainted by the memory of everything he’d done. "You're doing so well," he says, and Sam smiles tremulously.

"Ruby loved you, you know," Lucifer says, as he fills the next glass. "She wasn't just trying to manipulate you."

"Can we—can we not talk about that," Sam mutters. He wipes his mouth and glances away, but Lucifer takes his chin gently and turns his face back to face him.

"You need to stop being angry with yourself," he says. "She wanted you to trust her, and you needed someone to trust." He dips his index finger back into the glass, nudging Sam's mouth open and sliding it past his lips, nodding in approval when he sucks obediently.

"But she did love you," he continues. "She was special. She listened to me and my stories about you, listened to me talk about how beautiful you were and how you'd save us one day, and she fell in love with you. She only ever wanted to help you and serve me."

"You weren't ever, I don't know, jealous?" Sam says curiously.

Lucifer tilts his head. "Ruby helped you release me because she knew we were meant to be. She loved you and she brought us together. Why should I be jealous?" He lifts the glass again, and Sam doesn't resist it.

Lucifer pours again, and again. He offers the glass to Sam once, but he shakes his head. It's easier to have Lucifer doing this for him, easier to remember why he's doing it.

The first jug is nearly empty by now, and Sam eyes the second and bites his lip. He's never had this much before, and the burn of it in his stomach gets worse with each glass, but his fear is disappearing, replaced with fiery aggression.

"You're alright," Lucifer says softly, moving in closer. His hand is in Sam's hair, gently tipping his head back. He lifts the glass against Sam's lips, and this time Sam coughs and chokes on it.

"Sorry," Sam mutters, and Lucifer makes a sympathetic noise, wiping the blood carefully off Sam's chin. "Kinda burns. Smaller sips, I think?"

Lucifer nods, and he finishes the rest of the glass. His head is starting to spin, and as hard as it is to drink it, the desire, the need for it is only increasing. He drinks greedily, trying to manage the need to take it slow with how much he wants it. Lucifer's hand is soft and soothing, stroking through his hair, rubbing his back. He's patient and understanding, and so comforting.

They're more than halfway done with the second jug. "Is this all of it?" Sam asks, and Lucifer nods.

"You're almost there," he says. "You're doing beautifully, Sam," and Sam curls a hand around his waist, taking a few deep breaths before the next glass. 

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps as the next sip slides down his throat. "It's like _fire_."

Lucifer leans forward and presses his lips to Sam's, a soft, chaste kiss, and the icy chill of his lips is like a balm. "Just a little bit more, Sam," he says. "We're almost done. Just a few more.” 

He's careful and measured with the next glass, only allowing Sam small sips before taking it away. "Take it slow," he says, and his patience is overwhelming. "I know you want to get it over with, but if you go too fast, you'll choke."

"Sorry," Sam says, while he refills the glass, and there's only one more left in the carton, now. "I'm sure you're anxious to get inside me." He tries to smile a little, but it breaks and falls.

"Sam," Lucifer says, reaching out to cup his face and wiping a bit of blood off the corner of his mouth. "We have time. We'll go at whatever pace you need to." He holds the glass to Sam's lips, and Sam closes his eyes and drinks.

Lucifer holds the jug upside down over the glass, and he stares at the blood filling the cup, thinking, this is it. His heart is thumping, and his breath quickens, his eyes finding Lucifer's.

"Deep breaths," Lucifer says, and he nods, trying to calm his heartbeat. "You're okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Kiss me?" Sam says, voice small and soft, and Lucifer tangles a hand in his hair, pulling him into a fierce kiss, lips and teeth and desperate tongues. "We'll be alright," he whispers, "we're going to be okay."

He opens his lips to the last glass, and he can feel Lucifer's gaze on him. He's not elegant about this one, he chokes on it more than once, but Lucifer murmurs tender encouragements, hand stroking up and down his neck, and he forces his way through it. Sam knows how he must look, hair disheveled, blood dripping down his chin, but Lucifer looks at him with nothing but love and pride, wipes the blood off tenderly, and smiles confidently.

Sam takes a breath. "I’m ready," he says. He grabs Lucifer by the collar, pulls him in, and whispers, " _yes_."


End file.
